Paul Hartal

Bygone days silently curl,
Fold in airy yesteryears,
They retreat to hide
Behind the elliptic orbits
Of the revolving planets.

The days become nights
And they change,
Like caterpillars,
Or like gelatinous eggs
Of some toads
That detect vibrations.

And then they quietly sail
With the solar wind
To distant places in space
To remote galaxies
Filled with shimmering stars.

But in the uncurved spheres
Of the pulsating heart,
Amid the fugitive joys
And haunting sorrows of life,
The magic lanterns
Of bygone days glow
Under the rainbow clocks
Of ageless hours.

And while history
Restlessly meanders,
On the foamy stream
Of its inflammable river
Flows the Eternal Now
Of untamed remembrance.